roached the commander-in-chief, who,
surrounded by several officers, was seated upon a knoll commanding an
extensive prospect of the distant country, and from which could be easily
discovered the windings of the majestic Clyde, and the distant camp of
the insurgents on the opposite bank. The officers of the royal army
appeared to be surveying the ground, with the purpose of directing an
immediate attack. When Captain Lumley, the officer who accompanied
Morton, had whispered in Monmouth's ear his name and errand, the Duke
made a signal for all around him to retire, excepting only two general
officers of distinction. While they spoke together in whispers for a few
minutes before Morton was permitted to advance, he had time to study the
appearance of the persons with whom he was to treat.

It was impossible for any one to look upon the Duke of Monmouth without
being captivated by his personal graces and accomplishments, of which the
great High-Priest of all the Nine afterwards recorded--

"Whate'er he did was done with so much ease, In him alone 'twas natural
to please; His motions all accompanied with grace, And Paradise was
open'd in his face." Yet to a strict observer, the manly beauty of
Monmouth's face was occasionally rendered less striking by an air of
vacillation and uncertainty, which seemed to imply hesitation and doubt
at moments when decisive resolution was most necessary.

Beside him stood Claverhouse, whom we have already fully described, and
another general officer whose appearance was singularly striking. His
dress was of the antique fashion of Charles the First's time, and
composed of shamoy leather, curiously slashed, and covered with antique
lace and garniture. His boots and spurs might be referred to the same
distant period. He wore a breastplate, over which descended a grey beard
of venerable length, which he cherished as a mark of mourning for Charles
the First, having never shaved since that monarch was brought to the
scaffold. His head was uncovered, and almost perfectly bald. His high and
wrinkled forehead, piercing grey eyes, and marked features, evinced age
unbroken by infirmity, and stern resolution unsoftened by humanity. Such
is the outline, however feebly expressed, of the celebrated General
Thomas Dalzell,

[Note: Usually called Tom Dalzell. In Crichton's Memoirs, edited by
Swift, where a particular account of this remarkable person's dress
and habits is given, he is said